


Sweet Cheeks

by NoShitSherlock



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 17/18 year old harry, Balcony Sex, Blind Fucking (?), Blowjob (?), Consent, Cute Louis, Dark Harry, Falling In Love, Fantasizing, Harry's dad is also a dick, Harry's dad is the principal, Hickeys, High School AU, Humiliation Kink (I guess), I imagined Harrys dad to be someone else, Innocent Louis, Jock Harry, Jock Zayn, Lacrosse Harry, Lacrosse Zayn, Louis doesn't swear (until he does), Louis gets fucked over the balcony railing mate, Louis in Glasses, Louis wears cardigans and sweaters a lot, M/M, Manhandling, Neighbours, Parties, Pliant Louis, Rich Harry, Rich Louis, Rimming, Sex Ed Teacher Louis, Slight Sweater Paws Kink, Student Harry, Tattoos, Teacher Louis, Threesome (not in terms of sex), Throat grabbing, Tiny Louis, Zayn/Louis/Harry - Freeform, cold Harry, sex in the rain, smoker Harry, sweater paws, teacher/student relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:47:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12365097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoShitSherlock/pseuds/NoShitSherlock
Summary: Louis is an innocent, pretty in glasses, flustered mess of a high school sex-ed teacher who gets far too many dirty compliments and taps on the ass from his students. Harry, the lacrosse senior star and bad boy of Rowan High, gets transferred to Mr. Tomlinson's sex-ed class after humiliating his previous teacher. It's just what he likes to do.Harry becomes set on humiliating Mr. Tomlinson who just so happens to be his next door neighbour, but it backfires when sexual comments get made. There's one thing about Harry Styles: he doesn't do teachers.Until he does.





	Sweet Cheeks

**Author's Note:**

> This is crazy, like, I've never done a super long one shot before so I'm quaking. I started this back in June, abandoned it for a while, came back to it in August, abandoned it and came back to it in September. It's been sitting in my works completed but not proof read and the procrastination was real, let me tell you. 
> 
> Anyways, this is nothing too special, just a one shot that isn't really written at my best at all and lacks a good plot but it is what it is and I decided just to post it because I don't see the point of it doing nothing in my works :) 
> 
> I don't know what is my addiction to lacrosse Harry, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Please excuse anything weird, I promise I'm more calm now than I was in June :)

**"Does he assure you at 4 in the morning that you just haven't seen his good side yet?"**

**~ Red, Catfish and the Bottlemen**

•

Harry, tracing at his littered tats, prepares for an electrically charged wire of profanities to be shouted at him.

He's usually effervescent in school, despite the fact he has to attend too many classes for his liking. However, knowing that he's about to receive a scolding from the principal who just so happens to be his money-loaded dad, he doesn't have a reason to be buoyant.

The only time he sees his dad is when he breaks the school rules. Other than that, he finishes the school day to go home without his dad who doesn't ever return in the evening nor morning. Harry should feel bothered about it, but he loathes his dad. He doesn't actually care.

Nothing out of his dad's mouth he really listens too. Right now, he's sat in an overly expensive chair in his dad's office and he doesn't plan to start anytime soon. Harry likes to think he has selective hearing because he doesn't hear what's most likely a river of colourful words coming out his dad's mouth, but he hears:

_"You're being transferred to Mr. Tomlinson's sex-ed class. I don't even want you in the same room as Mrs. Copperfield."_

He only hears it because it's not a punishment to him, it's actually a delightful present, but his dad doesn't need to know that anytime soon.

Everybody talks about Mr. Tomlinson in Rowan High. Scratch that, they lust over him and they make it no secret. Harry doesn't exactly lust over the pretty twenty four year old. Instead, he fantasises. His fantasies consist of humiliating the tiny teacher because he strongly believes he can get a good kick out of it.

However, given the Mrs. Copperfield situation at hand right now, he mentally plans to hold off on that as he prefers not to make another sour visit to his dad for some time.

Harry knows it's depressingly insulting to state that Mr. Copperfield hasn't given Mrs. Copperfield a good shag in a lengthy amount of time. That explains why she's always annoyingly moody, but Harry thinks she deserved his insult - she kept nagging him about his, "inappropriate for school," tattoos as if she could make him get them removed.

There are two reasons why Harry is beaming about his transfer as he leaves his dad's office into the crowded hallway of high school students.

A, his dad has a very evident, almost manic, crush on Mr. Tomlinson despite the twenty something years between them. Happily, Harry can use this to irritate the living grits out of his dad.

B, Mr. Tomlinson, as incredible of a sex-ed teacher he is, is an easy target to humiliate. He's as pliant as they come. A bonus for Harry is that Mr. Tomlinson isn't just a sex-ed teacher at Rowan High. He's his next door neighbour in a very expensive cul-de-sac of million dollar plus houses up on the LA hills.

Harry likes to think he knows a lot about Mr. Tomlinson. He likes to go shopping, always returning with a ton of bags and in a new fluffy cardigan that hides the amazing curves he has. He always drinks a strawberry lemonade tea from Starbucks. He hates getting his hair ruffled. He's ridiculously in love with white roses.

And lastly, his boyfriend (a rich ass businessman) is an actual douchebag who's never around, not even on weekends. Mr. Tomlinson spends a lot of time alone reading in his garden.

Harry knows a heck of a lot that Mr. Tomlinson doesn't know he knows. That makes Harry thrive with the upper hand as he goes to his lacrosse practice for the afternoon.

He gets hounded by his teammates who bombard their co-captain with questions about the consequences for the Mrs. Copperfield situation. When he tells them he's being transferred to Mr. Tomlinson's sex-ed class, he's hoisted up onto their shoulders and given a round of applause as if he's just won a game for them.

Zayn, the other co-captain of the lacrosse team, even goes to the extent of tossing Harry a lacrosse ball who acts as if it's a trophy. Getting into Mr. Tomlinson's sex-ed class is a fucking privilege, but again, Harry's dad doesn't need to know that.

Their team heads to the showers after an intense practice of lacrosse, drenched in sweat and engaging in the conversation of Harry's transfer again. The tattooed lad only smiles smugly as he gathers his things after showering, distancing himself from the others who actually look like a bunch of teenage girls gossiping.

He's the last to leave the shower room though, being held back to receive a lecture from his coach who he only listens to because he loves him dearly. Harry steps out the door, slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder. The lights flicker off with the lack of movement in the room, but soon flicker back on when Harry's bones leave his skin as he jolts in the doorway.

Zayn's stood there, smirking like the asshole he is, scanning Harry's face.

"Sorry, mate. Did I scare you there?"

Harry mutters under his breath what is a number of swear words before giving him a death glare.

"You're lucky I love you."

"Love you too, H. Anyway, what do you plan on doing with Mr. Tomlinson?" Zayn nudges Harry's arm, giving him a wink and a knowing smirk.

Harry rolls his eyes. "For now, Z, nothing."

He begins walking down the hallway, Zayn following suit with a look of pure disbelief on his face.

"Wait. Don't tell me you've gone soft now? You're my partner in crime, you can't go soft on me!"

Harry shakes his head as he continues walking. His locker is all the way on the other side of Rowan High, which is incredibly and insanely massive. He's not happy about the walk he has to do just to get his coat and contemplates on leaving it, but it's quite breezy outside despite the LA warmth. Also, his coat is a Burberry edition and there are a good amount of thieves in the school willing to sell it off for a grand or two.

"I haven't gone soft Zayn," he chuckles, running a hand through his curly locks. "I just know better than to cause chaos straight after I've caused chaos. Wouldn't want my ass back in that annoyingly comfortable chair in my dad's office, would I?"

Zayn swings an arm around the green eyed lad's shoulders, halting them in their tracks. He looks around the hallway to check that none of the handful of teachers who stay late are around, then looks at Harry and smirks.

"It's Mr. Tomlinson. Shy, cute, pliant, innocent in glasses Mr. Tomlinson. You could take out your dick in front of him and he would be too scared to even tell you to put it back in let alone make a complaint to Principal Styles."

Harry bites his lip, ruffling his hair and running his fingers through it. He effortlessly swoops it back into the charming style he's known for and then sighs.

"True, but my dad has an embarrassing crush on him. He would see the look on Mr. Tomlinson's face, know something isn't right and force it out of him."

Zayn raises both eyebrows at Harry's response. He drops his arm from around Harry's shoulder and scoffs. "No way."

"Yeah way," Harry sniggers, resuming his trek to the other side of school. Again, Zayn follows like a stray puppy eager for attention.

He's actually really eager for the deets on Principal Styles' so-called crush on Mr. Tomlinson.

"Since when?"

Harry chuckles and shakes his head as he rounds the corner. They're both coincidentally walking down the sex-ed hallway, but it's the only way of getting to the designated side of school with Harry's locker.

They should lower their tones just in case there are any teachers lounged in the classrooms, but there's not a light coming from a single room so they don't bother.

"Since always. It's pretty embarrassing given Mr. Tomlinson has a boyfriend."

Zayn stops in his tracks, jaw dropping. He only stayed behind to find out what shenanigans Harry would be pulling next. This is more than he expected.

"He's got a boyfriend? Wait, he's gay?!"

Harry also stops, turns around and completely breaks out in a laughing fit. He loves Zayn truly but he's surprised he's been so oblivious to the sex-ed teacher's sexuality.

"You gotta be kidding me, right? Close your mouth, Z, there are no vaginas nearby."

He proceeds walking again and expects Zayn to follow, but the lad only closes his mouth and looks at his phone screen.

"Talking about vaginas, it's been nice getting let in on Mr. T's secrets, but Gigi is waiting for me in the parking lot."

"Alright. See you, mate." Harry gives a short wave, about to continue his walk, _again_ , before Zayn is calling out to him.

"Wait, H. How do you know Mr. Tomlinson has a boyfriend?"

Harry smirks, faces Zayn with the most smug expression on his face and replies, "he's my next door neighbour," and then leaves the lad once again with his jaw at his feet and the flies on their way.

Zayn should know Mr. Tomlinson is Harry's next door neighbour given the numerous amounts of times he's been to Harry's house as his best friend, but for some damn reason he's been in the dark. He's quite offended Harry's never told him.

Harry makes one last turn around a corner and finally reaches his well known locker. It is far too common for foolish freshmen to leave sappy little love notes in his locker along with their names. It's a fantastic opportunity to embarrass the students to hell but Harry, despite being the incredible bad boy and heartbreaker he is labelled as, isn't cold-hearted.

At least not to students. Harry's sinisterly cold-hearted to teachers - given reason to like Mrs. Copperfield. Anyone who is in a class with Harry most likely is at school because of exactly him. There's not a day that goes by where Harry isn't hassling the teachers and it's very entertaining to everyone.

He should feel sympathetic, but he doesn't.

Opening his locker, it's no shocking surprise to see several hand written notes fall out. He sighs, picks them up and stashes them in the far corner of his locker. He sets down his duffle bag to take out his black overcoat and slips it on, then slams his locker door shut following.

He sighs heavily. It's nearing seven in the evening and it's an hour drive to get home. That's what he gets for attending a public school in the middle of the city instead of a private school near the hills. This is only the case because he doesn't want to be stuffed in pathetic school uniform blending in with everyone else. Really, the legit reason is because he believes the teachers have less self control in public schools than in private.

It's funny to him to see them enraged and about to swing a chair at the wall. Like the little devil he is, he thrives off it.

Swinging his duffle bag over his shoulder, he proceeds to tread through the sex-ed hallway again. Fatigue has consumed him to the point that he only merely hears the sound of objects cluttering and falling to the ground coming from one of the classrooms.

Given his tired state, it's only reasonable to continue walking through the hallway. Except, his mind doesn't let go of the fact that - assuming someone has tripped over - there's an opportunity to take the mick out of a Rowan High teacher.

He walks over to the only classroom with a light on. He swears all the classrooms were vacanted, he knows for a fact they were only moments ago. It must be Zayn stupidly vandalising one of the classrooms as a quickie before meeting Gigi.

However, leaning against the classroom door as he calls out for the other tattooed lad, he immediately realises that the person bent over the desk in attempt to catch the objects that had fallen off it onto the floor is in fact not Zayn. They're far too curvy and little to be Zayn, and Zayn doesn't wear glasses.

Harry smirks at his fortune. "Mr. Tomlinson, my new sex-ed teacher. What are you still doing here?"

The teacher turns his head at the voice, standing up and stepping back in fright. Harry thinks it's adorable how the sleeves of his oversized sweater form paws as it covers both his hands completely. It's equally adorable how he uses one sweater paw to push his glasses that have fallen a little back up his button nose.

"H-Harry! O-Oh," he places a hand over his heart, shuffling his feet.

The sound of a liquid dripping catches Harry's attention, and he notices Mr. Tomlinson has spilt his tea down the side of his desk and all over the floor alongside the other objects. Harry raises an eyebrow.

"I-I was just trying to make space and-" the teacher laughs nervously placing both his sweater paws on his cheeks as he shakes his head in embarrassment. "Sorry if I disturbed you."

Harry laughs at the teacher's persona; he's a wreck. With a school full of kinky teenagers, he now understands why this teacher is lusted after so frequently. He's quite the flustered mess - it's a turn on.

"Apology accepted," Harry slips his hands into his jean pockets, smirk never faltering. "You looked quite endearing in that position over your desk."

The sex-ed teacher gasps, covering his mouth with his sweater paws, eyes wide.

"Does your boyfriend fuck you in that position?"

The blue eyed teacher's face screws up in shock as a child would do hearing a swear word. "O-Oh, Harry, that's- that's inappropriate!"

The lacrosse star scoffs, taking a step into the classroom. "Not as inappropriate as you in that position."

"I-I was trying to catch my tea!"

The teacher has got his sweater paws on his cheeks again as he looks down at his feet in embarrassment. Harry takes numerous steps towards the teacher until he's on the other side of the desk, spilt tea at his feet.

The cup is antique and has pretty much shattered on impact, asides from the handle which has broken off in one whole. The green eyed lad bends down to pick it up before dangling it on his index finger in front of Mr. Tomlinson.

"Didn't do such a great job there now, did you?" He snickers, placing the handle on the crowded desk in front of him before staring the teacher in his eyes.

Mr. Tomlinson gulps, pulling at the bottom of his jumper. "Is Principal Styles still h-here?"

Harry's smirk falters at the mention of his father. "I don't have a damn clue, _sweet cheeks._ Why don't you ring the bastard up and see?"

Mr. Tomlinson is flustered at the use of swear words but doesn't answer the question, only mumbles out an apology.

The legendary smirk on Harry's face returns at the apology, and he uses his index finger and thumb over the desk to lift the teacher's face up by the chin.

"Apology accepted."

The blue eyed lad twiddles with his sleeves, blushing and avoiding eye contact. The look of shyness is appealing to Harry, much so to the point he loses his words for a mere handful of seconds.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Tomlinson."

He ruffles his curly hair again, swooping it into place before leaning in closer to whisper in the teacher's ear.

_"Hopefully not bent over your desk."_

And just like that, he leaves the classroom leaving Mr. Tomlinson horrified to his bones and a flustered mess.

The hour drive home consists of the green eyed lad belting out lyrics at the top of his voice, and every time an advert plays, his mind wanders off to the pure look of humiliation on Mr. Tomlinson's face from earlier on. That's what Harry loves. What he _lives_ for.

When he arrives home, he sort of wants to throw up. His jubilant mood alters and he becomes pissed off. There's a Bentley parked in his driveway and Harry doesn't need to think twice to know that his dad is home.

He enters the code to the key box and pulls out the keys to unlock the gate. Placing them back into the box and closing the lid, he takes out the door keys and enters his house.

Albeit, it is not his house, his father's, but once again, he's never around, apart from now.

The ground floor is completely empty as Harry wonders through, shrugging off his coat, discarding his duffle bag and leaving his car keys on the kitchen counter. He treads up the spiral staircase up onto the first floor. Everything is how he left it, except there's a Burberry jacket thrown on the floor that is not from his collection, nor his dad's.

There are muffled sounds coming from his dad's room, and it's not just one voice. He goes to knock, but doesn't want to give his dad the satisfaction of him being kind. He terribly regrets barging in unannounced, though, as he opens the door to see his dad and another man in a very compromising position.

Harry doesn't turn away. Although he hasn't seen his dad in a situation like this for a very long time, when his dad _would_ come home, there were many nights where he was shagging a guy.

In a disgusting way, Harry's used to it. He regrets walking in because of _who_ the guy is. It's none other than Mr. Tomlinson's boyfriend. Harry wants to feel sympathetic, and he does, just the littlest bit, because the sex-ed teacher is too cute to have a conniving boyfriend who's in fact a cheater.

He shrugs the feeling off quickly though, interrupting his dad who - despite Harry's presence - doesn't stop until he speaks.

"You're fucking unbelievable. Never home but when you are, it isn't to see your son, it's to shag a whore with a boyfriend. Thought you had a crush on Tomlinson, _dad_ ," he spits the name out as if it's poison.

What is definitely Mr. Tomlinson's boyfriend looks up at his dad with a look of horror, then to Harry himself, then back at his dad.

"You have a crush on my boyfriend? Excuse me?"

That's Harry's cue to leave and so he does. He can't stand the thought of being in his house where his dad so disrespectfully is having sex. He could at least cook dinner for his son and then do that.

The tattooed lad grabs his pack of cigarettes and his lighter, puts his coat on and then goes out onto his front porch, shutting the door behind him. He sparks up the fag, inhales the nicotine and tar and lets out a white cloud of smoke.

He burns through at least four cigarettes before there's a car - Mr. Tomlinson's - driving into the cul-de-sac and onto the driveway next door. When it stops, the blue eyed teacher doesn't leave the car straight away. From where Harry is stood, he is able to see the flash of his phone that's being pressed against his ear. The teacher's lips aren't moving, so he doubts the call is being picked up.

Harry stubs out the fourth cigarette under his feet and begins to walk the distance between his driveway and Mr. Tomlinson's. He knocks with a knuckle on the window, for the second time scaring the teacher. The window is rolled down and it's only when the little fluffball in the car moves his phone away from his ear, lighting up his face, does Harry see his eyes accompanied with tears.

Harry doesn't do tears.

"Why are you in tears, Mr. Tomlinson?"

The teacher brings his legs up, folding them on the car seat. He looks likes he's contemplating, sweater paws under his chin. He pats the passenger seat beside him, and Harry gets the cue. He opens the car door, slips in and then shuts it behind him.

"Call me Louis," he looks down shyly, playing with his fingers in his lap. "We're not in school."

The tattooed lad lets a little smirk play on his lips as he watches the nervous teacher beside him chew on his own.

"I think I prefer sweet cheeks, _sweet cheeks._ "

Louis' head snaps up at that, cheeks flushed red. "That's inappropriate!"

"We're not in school."

Harry's still smiling smugly as they fall into a short silence. The curly headed lad repeats his question.

"So why are you in tears, _Louis?_ "

He presumes he already knows the answer, that it's about his dickhead of a boyfriend, but waits for Louis to answer himself.

"It's my, um...my b-boyfriend..."

Harry nods his head, straight faced despite the image of his father and Louis' boyfriend - whom is still in his dad's bedroom across the road whilst Louis is over here crying - going through his head.

"What about him?"

Louis hiccups, swallowing and wiping away a tear with his sweater paw.

"He's not picking up his phone..."

"Why do you care?"

Louis looks somewhat offended by the blunt question coming out of the lacrosse star's mouth who's legendary smirk is replaced with a straight face of stone.

"H-He's my boyfriend-"

"Who's not here."

"I love him, I-"

"If he loved you, he would be here."

"I-I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Then what conversation are you having with me?"

The answers coming out of Harry's mouth sound automatic, like a robot. He remains stoic, void of any emotion, completely expressionless.

He knows well enough that he's sincerely irritating the distressed lad, but he likes it. That's what he does to all the teachers at Rowan High. However, his knowledge of what's going on in his own household makes him feel sympathetic towards the teacher. _That_ he doesn't like.

He doesn't ever feel sympathetic or sorry for the teachers he humiliates or irritates, so it largely annoys him that this teacher of all the teachers is making him feel it.

Perhaps it's because he knows this ties in with his own asshole of a dad. Or perhaps it's because he's witnessed the teacher alone night after night.

That he can upsettingly relate to. So as much as he hates it, he feels sorry for the sex-ed teacher.

"A conversation w-we shouldn't be having," he gulps, covering his cheeks with his sweater paws and looking down shamefully.

Harry's realised that little movement he tends to do a lot, and it's cute. It's really cute.

"I-I'm sorry, Harry, but could you leave, please?"

It comes out so small from his mouth that it's barely audible. He's chewing at his lip again and he looks so scared that Harry doesn't believe it's because he's shy anymore.

A smirk reappears on Harry's face as he opens the car door, steps out and then shuts it. He leans on the roof of the car and gives the teacher a wink before uttering out that awful nickname _ _.__

"I'll see you tomorrow, _sweet cheeks._ "

Louis' boyfriend doesn't leave Harry's house until midnight, Harry's dad following suit. He scoffs as the former walks across the street, unlocking the door and disappearing as if nothing just happened, and Harry doesn't even bother to ask where his dad is heading. He wants the house to himself anyway.

So really, Harry doesn't go back into his house until midnight, spending the rest of his evening on his porch smoking through the rest of the pack of his cigarettes.

When he gets inside, he doesn't even bother eating and treads up to his room, switching off all the lights on the way.

He falls asleep that night looking rather forward to his sex-ed lesson tomorrow for once.

The next day comes around far too quickly, the sun peaking through the shutters and directly onto Harry's face. It creates a streak across his eyes and leaves him groaning in annoyance.

He follows his morning routine closely, showering and getting himself clad in a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a band tee and black chelsea boots. He just about has time to eat a bowl of plain yogurt and flakes of oats with dried berries before he sees Louis' car manoeuvring out onto the road.

That's his cue to haul his ass out of his house and drive an hour to school.

It's nothing new for him. The early morning traffic in the bustling city of LA, the few honks of cars, his drop by at Starbucks to order a Iced Hazelnut Macchiato. He gets to school in one piece.

However, he doesn't have a second to breath as he steps through Rowan High's doors and is tugged to the side by the hem of his t-shirt. He almost drops his macchiato and is ready to punch the bitch dragging him. He expects it to be Zayn but it's none other than Gigi who is Zaynless.

"Oi, Haz. You getting transferred to Mr. Tomlinson's class?"

"Yeah, why?"

The blonde gives him a knowing smile and folds her arms. "You gonna get yourself up Mr. T's ass too?"

"Well," he takes a sip of his macchiato and begins walking down the busy hallway, the blonde following suit. "In _that_ way, no. I don't fuck teachers."

" _Sure._ What shenanigans are you going to pull?" She grabs his macchiato and takes a large sip which leaves the curly headed lad glaring.

He shrugs his shoulders, snatches back his drink and takes a larger sip, making a statement that the drink is his.

"By that I mean what positions are you going to put him in when you fuck him?"

Harry feigns a look of disbelief, placing a hand over his heart. "That's inappropriate!"

Gigi giggles and slings an arm around Harry's waist as they walk past a group of teenagers binging on books.

"Why does that sound like something that has come out of Mr. Tomlinson's mouth?"

"Because it is."

The blonde lets out a loud gasp, just as fake as Harry's look of disbelief. "And how would you know that, curly?"

 _"O-Oh, Harry, that's- that's inappropriate!"_ His mimic is unbelievably accurate, he even places his hands on his cheeks. "I asked if his boyfriend fucks him in the position of being bent over a table."

"Um," she looks like she's about to scold him, but it's Gigi, and he knows that her response is going to be nothing alike. "Going straight in for the kill, I see."

"It's Mr. Tomlinson," he smirks, approaching the all too famous sex-ed hallway so that he can get to his locker for his books. "I can say whatever I want, he would never tell my dad."

"Lucky you," she responds, slacking off behind Harry. "Well, coincidentally enough, you're with Zayn and I for sex-ed now."

"No fucking way," he halts in his steps, turning around to face Gigi who's already stopped. "Fuck yes!"

He doesn't even realise he's dropped his macchiato all over the floor until he notices his hand is held out and empty, making him look like an idiot. He looks around the hallway, eyes landing on a freshman.

"Oi, you."

The freshman looks at the lacrosse star and immediately clutches onto his books in fear.

"Clean that up."

The freshman scrambles to get tissues out of his pockets as Harry pulls Gigi to the side.

"H, that's rude!"

"Anything new?"

She rolls her eyes, flicking the lad on the cheek. "Don't be a dick. Anyways, the reason why I'm talking to your sorry ass this early in the morning isn't just about Mr. T. Are you selling?"

"Yeah, why?"

"There's a freshman willing to pay more than he needs to for some weed."

"I'm not dealing a freshman."

"But-"

"Ask Zayn."

"I would if I could find him."

"You should really put a leash on your boyfriend, G."

That earns him a whack on his shoulder, and she's about to yell at him a boat load of curses but there's a sweet voice interrupting the two calling Harry's name.

It's Mr. Tomlinson.

"Could I speak to you, Harry. Please?"

The teacher, with his everyday sweater paws, pushes his glasses up his nose and looks down shyly, wrapping an arm around his middle.

Harry looks at Gigi, smirks and says, "catch you later. I'll text you if I see Zayn before first period."

He ruffles the blonde's hair, leaving her straight facing him as he walks across the hallway and up to the sex-ed teacher.

"Yes, Mr. Tomlinson?"

"O-Oh, please come in first," he steps to the side, awaiting Harry to go into his classroom.

The curly haired lad walks in, the teacher closing the door behind the both of them. The classroom spells of cinnamon and spices from the candle on Mr. Tomlinson's overly crowded desk.

"Planning to burn the classroom down?"

The teacher's face flushes over, well aware of the candle amongst piles of papers. He scurries over to blow it out, fanning the smoke with his sweater paw.

"Oh, no, now why would you do that?" Harry questions.

He steps around the desk, in his all too familiar place of last night. "I was quite enjoying the romantic vibe, _sweet_ _ _cheeks.__ "

The teacher becomes even more flustered than he already is, awkwardly coughing. He occupies himself away from the pet name by flicking through a pile of papers, slipping out a sheet with Harry's name on it.

"Here's, um, a list of sex-ed topics that my class has done already that your previous class hasn't. It's important you study these as it's now vital for you to pass sex-ed for college."

As the nervous wreck of a teacher speaks, Harry is in a trance, never ripping his eyes out of contact with the teacher's, who constantly looks anywhere he can but Harry in his awkward, flustered state.

"You should get through the topics fast. Sex, um, isn't _that_ hard to understand."

"You would know."

The curly haired lad doesn't regret his words. Far from regrets it as the sex-ed teacher gulps, eyes on Harry as the student takes slow, intimidating steps around his desk. They're finally face to face and Harry revels in the height difference between them.

He trails a slender finger along the teacher's jawline, mindful of the uncovered windows of the classroom but without a care.

He brings his mouth closer to the teacher's ear and is tempted to bite on his ear lobe, but doesn't. He only whispers.

"You would know, because I'm sure your boyfriend reminds you what sex is when he fucks you. Pretty little you..."

It's pretty evil to mention the teacher's boyfriend knowing the truth about him, but that doesn't stop the green eyed lad.

The teacher gasps, jolting away and stuttering over his words more than he already does.

"O-Oh, Harry, n-no. Please- please stop with the- the comments like," he gulps, " _that_. It's-"

"Inappropriate," Harry finishes for him, stroking his cheek and stepping away. He smirks, taking the sheet of paper of topics from the teacher's hand. He scans the topic list quickly before looking at the blue eyed lad.

"I know."

He gives a look that Mr. Tomlinson can't decipher, then gestures towards the sheet of paper.

"Thank you, _sweet_ _ _cheeks.__ "

He's turning around, smug as hell and making his way through the classroom door before the teacher finally responds.

"It's Mr. Tomlinson."

"I think I prefer sweet cheeks, _sweet_ _ _cheeks.__ "

The next time he's due to see the teacher is the last period of the day, so Harry's pleasantly surprised when Mr Tomlinson is stumbling into the cafeteria at lunch to retrieve an apple and a packet of Cheetos. He usually hides away in his classroom with a pre-packed lunch according to Josh, one of the other players on the team.

They don't interact at all, but the whole time, the entire lacrosse team at his table send knowing looks that should piss Harry off but he quite rather likes. The best part about it is when Mr. Tomlinson catches Harry's dark, menacing stare from across the cafeteria. The red of his cheeks can be seen from a mile away.

He only ends up crashing into Principal Styles, the principal's plate of food colliding with his chest and it's contents staining his shirt.

That is by far the best thing that Harry has seen all day, besides the flushed disgrace of a cute teacher himself. He can see his dad biting back a string of profanities because - even though he's drooling all over Mr. Tomlinson - he has a short temper.

Harry chuckles. _Serves_ _ _you__ _ _ _right___ _ _ _ _for____ _ _ _ _ _last_____ _ _ _ _ _ _n______ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ig_______ _ _ _ _ _ _ht's______ _ _ _ _ _ _ _shitty_______ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _stunt________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _you_________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _pulled.__________

It's even better when the smaller teacher is dashing off to the side to grab a ton of tissues and his dad mouths a very visible _"_ _ _f__ _ucking hell!_ "

The award winning moment is when Mr. Tomlinson returns, a handful of tissues and is dabbing at his dad's shirt - not that Harry is too happy about the contact - and his dad accidentally lets a, __"__ _ _ _you___ _ _ _ _fucking____ _ _ _ _ _idiot,"_____ out of his mouth.

Mr. Tomlinson takes a step back, doing the action he's known for where he places his sweater paws on his cheeks and looks down. He's too scared to scold the principal for swearing.

Josh captures the entire moment on camera. Even the part where Mr. Tomlinson scurries out of the cafeteria with his Cheetos and apple with Principal Styles following like a love sick puppy.

It doesn't cross Harry's mind that he doesn't like his dad's infatuation with the sex-ed teacher until he sees his dad's arm around Mr. Tomlinson's waist. Josh had followed the two staff members out, videoing what Harry couldn't see from his position at their lunch table. When he watches the video laughing with his lacrosse team members, the smile is slapped right off his face at the sight.

Nobody realises the change of aura, and he's thankful.

The pang of jealousy he feels in his chest is not something he's supposed to feel.

Yet, he's feeling it.

Last period comes around quickly. Harry, akin to entering through the school doors this morning, is dragged by the hem of his t-shirt backwards just as he's turning onto the sex-ed hallway.

"What- hey!"

He turns around to see Zayn, who looks like he's about to burst out from Lord knows what.

"Z, seriously? What is it with you and Gigi and dragging me by my t-shirt? It costs money!"

"Harry, shut up," Zayn deadpans. "You'll never guess what I witnessed earlier on."

"What?" Harry questions.

"So Mr. T is going into his classroom at lunch, Principal Styles following with his shirt all stained with food. Then, he follows him into his room, innit, and I'm thinking that Mr. T is in trouble or something. But then your dad is backing him up against the wall, trapping him in and then he's kissing Mr. T."

 _There's_ _ _that__ _ _ _pang___ _ _ _ _of____ _ _ _ _ _jealously_____ _______again._______ He feels angry.

"And the best part is, Mr. T knees him in the crotch. I've never seen anything like it!"

Harry doesn't have a chance to speak as Zayn is adding on:

"Oh, and thank you for directing that freshman my way. Got some good money, I did."

He pats Harry on the back and then walks ahead to go to Mr. Tomlinson's sex-ed class where Gigi most likely already is.

 _At_ __least_ _ ___he_ _ _ ____kneed_ _ _ _ _____him._ _ _ _ _ ______Serves_ _ _ _ _ _ _______the_ _ _ _ _ _ _ ________asshole_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _________right._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Harry shortly after follows, taking a seat at the back of the classroom, eyes firmly on Mr. Tomlinson who looks deeply troubled.

One of the basketball jocks walks in, casually tapping the teacher on his ass earning a detention which really doesn't do much.

In response, the jock says, _"more of an opportunity to do that to you again, Mr. T. Nice ass."_

Harry knows it's a regular occurrence. The students of Rowan High are wild and untameable and it just so happens that Louis is at the fat end of it. But that doesn't mean Harry's happy about it.

He's not.

He doesn't know where this sense of wanting to claim the teacher has come from. It's only been a day of his transfer, of talking to the teacher instead of hearing rumours about him and watching him from afar on his porch.

The more Harry thinks about it, the more his blood boils with anger. This is what he doesn't like.

 _F_ __ee_ _ _lings._

Before he can dive any further in his thoughts, Mr. Tomlinson is starting up the class.

"Alright guys. Today we are studying the female genitalia. We've covered this before but let's secure it in our knowledge, shall we?"

Harry notices the change, how Mr. Tomlinson doesn't stutter or appear flustered as he starts the class. It takes Harry a moment for it to click in his head that it's because Mr. Tomlinson loves teaching sex-ed and feels confident knowing he's well educated.

Harry doesn't need to wonder why to know why. He smirks, but is interrupted by an arm nudging him from his left.

"Yeah, Olivia?"

"Why are you looking at Mr. T like you want to strip him naked and bend him over his desk?"

Harry mentally face palms. He deadpans, because he doesn't lust after the teacher, he just fantasises about embarrassing him. Although he tends to call the teacher _pretty_ and call him _sweet_ _ _cheeks__ , that doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean he wants to fuck the teacher.

He doesn't fuck teachers.

"I don't know what you're on about."

The light brunette gives him a scolding roll of the eyes. "Don't piss me off, Harry Sunshine Styles. You got that same look on your face you had when you shagged Ms. Swift, the music teacher."

Harry glares. _He_ _ _doesn't__ _ _ _fuck___ _ _ _ _teachers.____

"I never fucked Ms. Swift."

"Harry, we all heard the sounds."

"Yeah, of her sex tape that I was blackmailing her with."

" _Sure._ Here," she tosses a square packet onto his desk. He doesn't need to double check the object to know that a condom just flew through the air. "Stay safe when you beat Mr. T."

Harry isn't the only one who sees the condom launching to him, or hears Olivia telling him to _stay_ _ _safe__ _ _ _when___ _ _ _ _he____ _ _ _ _ _beats_____ _ _ _ _ _ _Mr.______ ________fucking________ _______T._______

In fact, all eyes are on him, shifting to Olivia, and then back on him.

Mr. Tomlinson is stood blushing and flustered at the front of the classroom, looking aghast. He's embarrassed. Harry smirks.

"I-I d-don't recall saying we're gonna be putting condoms on a dil-" the teacher is cut off by one of the bratty cheerleaders, Briana.

"You're gonna beat Mr. T?!"

"No way!"

"Get in there!"

 _"Course he is, got his dick ready and everything_. _"_

That last one comes from Zayn and it causes Mr. Tomlinson to step back into his crowded desk, one of the objects falling off on the other side, in which he bends over the desk in attempt to catch it. He deeply regrets that though.

"H, look! Mr. T is getting ready for you!"

The whole class is creating a racket of noise, dog whistles, shouts and cheers being heard from far down the hallway.

Mr. Tomlinson looks like he's about to cry from embarrassment and finally gives a good response to the situation.

"Harry, _detention!_ Don't even attempt getting out of your seat when the bell goes!"

The entire class shuts up because they know Harry is about to cause an even bigger scene than he already has (well, Olivia already has) because he takes his lacrosse practice very serious and detention cuts straight into it.

Harry stands up from his seat at the back of the classroom and steps towards the front of the classroom. All eyes follow him in anticipation. The look on his face is dark.

 _That's_ __the_ _ ___Harry_ _ _ ____everyone_ _ _ _ _____knows_ _ _ _ _ ______and_ _ _ _ _ _ _______loves._ _ _ _ _ _ _

He's face to face with the smaller lad who looks up at him, eyes baby blue and frightened, regretting setting the student a detention.

Harry smirks in his face. "Come again, _sweet_ _ _cheeks?__ "

Mr. Tomlinson shifts from one foot to his other, fiddling with his sweater paws and looking down for a mere second. He looks back up.

"I said you have a detention. Two hours. This is all inappropriate. And it's Mr. Tomlinson."

The smirk is ripped from the tattooed lad's face. "I don't think so, _Louis._ "

" _Mr. Tomlinson,_ and I think so yes. This is my classroom, my rules."

Harry filters his thoughts through for a second. He's expected to embarrass the teacher by insulting him. Everyone waits intently for it, but it never comes.

"I'm going to have a smoke."

"You're not allowed to leave this classroom or smoke on school grounds."

Harry brings his face intimidatingly close to the teacher's, bringing his lips to his right ear and whispering:

_"Watch me."_

And Mr. T is left speechless as the tattooed lad calmly leaves the room.

The teacher goes through the lesson in a bitter mood. He doesn't take that out on his students though, he's too kind to. They feel sorry for him despite all their noise earlier on, and cut him some slack because everyone loves Mr. T.

Harry comes back when the bell goes, but it isn't to sit his detention.

The teacher has his back to the door and is sipping on his tea. The tea ends up spilling as he hears the classroom door being locked and jolts, and the cup ends up shattering on the ground when the tattooed student is pressing his front to his back, a hand coming up to wrap around his throat.

Harry brings his lips to his ear, the smell of smoke strong.

"I don't like it when pretty little teachers like you give pointless detentions. Do you know what they do?"

He awaits an answer, but as predicted isn't given one. He presses the teacher against his desk, trapping him firmly against himself and the wood.

"They waste my time, and if there's one thing I hate most, it's my time being wasted."

The words roll of his tongue like he's got venom surging through his blood. This whole time, the tattooed lad has been somewhat tolerable, from last night up until last period. But now, when he's talking so closely to the teacher's ear and sending shivers throughout his body, Louis can't register anything anymore.

Between being pressed up against his desk and the lacrosse star, something twists in his gut and troubles his stomach. It's a bad feeling and it scares him. There's an awfully sinister energy radiating off the student, but it's one that attracts Louis like a magnet.

"So, _sweet cheeks_. Give me a good reason to stay. Or I'll simply leave."

The student's index finger leaves Louis' neck, trailing his jawline. Louis usually hides away from things under oversized jumpers or cardigans but he can't hide from the person behind him.

"C'mon. Gimme a reason, _Louis_."

The cerulean eyed teacher turns his head to the left slowly, following after Harry's lips which hover dangerously close to his for that little moment.

 _"Gimme_ _a reason..."_

It's so wrong to lean in, about to catch the curly headed lad's lips in a kiss. _It's wrong_. However, Mr. Tomlinson doesn't quite reach the student's lips, the student who still has a hand around his neck and his front pressed firmly to his back.

The tattooed lad chuckles. The chuckle is laced with utter mockery and it makes the teacher flinch.

"You really think I'm gonna kiss you? I don't do teachers, _sweet cheeks_."

He rips his body away from Louis' and the feeling of embarrassment settles in the teacher. He isn't just embarrassed, he's humiliated.

But he guesses that's just what Harry wanted. That's what the menacing student thrives off. It's sickening.

The curly headed lad is stepping backwards and away from the teacher, smirking, _toying_ with his mind, _playing_ with his feelings.

When he gets to the door, he stops.

"You should really stop spilling cups of tea. What a waste..."

That's the last time Harry speaks to Mr. Tomlinson for the rest of the school year.

Louis doesn't know where he got the courage from, but there was something endearing about the way Harry spoke to him, the way the words sounded rolling off his tongue, that influenced him to lean in that afternoon.

The worst part is, it would have been considered cheating on his boyfriend who, no differently, is barely is around.

Three months has passed by without realisation. Harry doesn't attend any of his sex-ed classes. The teacher goes through his days with his usual flustered self, but every time he has his last period senior class, there is the same empty seat at the back of his classroom that his eyes linger on for a moment too long.

Harry sees Mr. Tomlinson around school. He doesn't give his legendary smirk. He's had his fun.

He really hasn't, but there is something about Mr. Tomlinson, _something_ _ _about__ _ _ _him___ _ _ _ _that____ _ _ _ _ _day,_____ that made Harry almost kiss the teacher back. It went against his morals.

_He doesn't do teachers._

Before, Harry was a lot more lively, a lot more effervescent. Three months pass and he is walking around school straight faced. He has never picked on students, but he so easily begins to do so, slamming freshmen against lockers, teasing juniors. He starts selling to the freshmen as well, which goes against his morals too.

He receives a double amount of detentions from the double amount of teachers he pisses off in the three months. Detentions he never goes to.

Out on the field for lacrosse, he slacks off. He receives one too many lectures from his coach and falsely promises he will shape up or ship out. He lies - it goes against his morals.

He visits his dad far too often who gives him the same old lecture but can't exactly threaten to kick him out of school because it's his son.

Harry knows the way he's acting is not all because of that little moment that happened the three months ago, it is because of how he is feeling after those three months.

Because of _what_ he is feeling after those three months.

Three months turn into six, and whenever Harry sees Louis, he stares a moment too long.

There is anger in him, which he channels into smoking through packets of cigarettes within only a day. He still doesn't attend any sex-ed lessons and doesn't care if he fails the subject as a whole.

Zayn and Gigi question him far too often. They know there is something seriously wrong when the green eyed lad slams his fist into his locker, and then into the faces of students.

He is never violent - it goes against his morals.

Six months turn into nine.

He lights fags in school casually, sells weed in school casually, roughs up teachers to the point where Zayn has to hold him back.

He's deteriorated. He's fallen.

He's __f__ _ _ _allen___ for Louis.

That was _never_ meant to happen.

He can _never_ admit it.

So when the tenth month comes around, exams around the corner, and the sex-ed teacher is pulling him into the janitor's closet as people pool out of the school's stadium after the last lacrosse match of the season - the Rowan Eagles winning - Harry doesn't know what to say.

Or how to feel.

"Would it have killed you?" Louis questions, leaning against the closet doors to prevent Harry from leaving. He could easily be picked up and removed by the hunk, but as long as it doesn't happen, everything's good.

Well, as good as it can get ten months later.

The tattooed lad blinks, face emotionless.

Louis is evidently angry, folding his arms. He's no longer in his oversized jumpers or cardigans. It's early summer and already hot out in LA. He's clad in a band tee. Harry's heart twitches at the lack of sweater paws.

"Don't fucking ignore me!"

The green eyed lad screws up his face in confusion because _since when does he swear?_

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to give me a valid answer which explains why you've avoided me for _ten_ _ _whole__ _ _ _months.___ "

"I don't need to justify my actions."

"Yes you bloody do."

"I do not-"

"The only thing you do __not__ get to do is bullshit me! You do __n__ _ _ _ot___ get to call me _sweet_ _ _cheeks__ and _pretty_ and then avoid me like the plague for _ten_ _ _fucking__ _ _ _months.___ "

"Yes I do."

"God- would it have killed you if we kissed?!"

The question being repeated causes Harry's stomach to twist in knots, his face however still expressionless.

"You're a teacher. I'm a student."

"Don't fucking avoid the question, you self-serving son of a bitch. You make me fucking sick thinking you can toy with people's emotions and then drop them like they're-"

It's wet and soft, the lips encasing Louis' as he's cut off. He's grabbed by the waist, gripped tightly against the taller person and his hands, without permission, come to wrap tightly around the student's neck.

His back is slammed against the door, his right thigh being lifted and his leg locking around Harry's waist. Harry's hand lingers on Louis' thigh, gripping it, and his other hand comes up to wrap around the teacher's throat.

In an attempt to lift Louis up with just one hand, the teacher is slammed against the door again as he locks his other leg around Harry's waist, and he can feel a bruise forming on his upper back.

The lips of the tattooed lad emit a tongue that forces its way into his mouth. Saliva is swapped as Harry battles his tongue with Louis', their teeth clashing. His hand around the teacher's throat roughly forces his head against the door and allows Harry to keep his lips pressed firmly against the pair on his.

Louis tangles his fingers in the student's curly locks, tugging harshly at his roots. Harry lets out a moan of pain and lust both and uses his spare hand to drag his fingers up Louis' back beneath his t-shirt and dig his fingers into his skin, marking red lines as he claws.

The blue eyed lad gasps into Harry's mouth at that, arching his back. The hand marking his back trails down to his the curve of his bum and grips at it, kneading the flesh. The moan that slips out Louis' mouth as Harry does that and starts to trail kisses down his neck is too loud for caution.

"No no no no- mm! No, _no,_ Harry, stop!"

The curly headed lad brings his head up to face the teacher. The look in his eyes is presented with utter darkness as he lets a seething breath out.

"Isn't this want you want, no?"

"No, yes- _no._ "

"Make up your fucking mind or stop wasting my time."

Louis feels like a truck has hit him, because for the mere moment they were kissing, Harry was Harry. Now he's _Harry_ again - cold, rude, wicked.

"Yes or fucking no?!"

Louis hates the fact that there's tears falling from his eyes.

"No."

At that, Harry drops his hand, tearing the legs around his waist from him. The teacher watches the tattooed lad, trying to hold back as much tears as he can.

"Then goodbye. And you shouldn't go around kissing boys when you have a boyfriend. Don't be a cheater."

It's true when they say words hurt, but what hurts more is actions. As watching the student walk out of the compact space emotionless as Louis balls up on the ground in tears makes him feel like he has been gutted and decapitated all in one go.

•

It's a week before exams start and whilst everyone is excited for the lovely weather of summer and going to the beach and getting tans, they need to be studying for the weeks of exams that are starting soon.

Except, it's ten o'clock at night and Louis is preparing some last minute online sex-ed revision guides for a handful of students and marking mock papers of the lower grades, when there is the pounding of music and loud murmur of voices coming from the house beside his. Noise which can be heard across his entire section up in the hills and the houses below.

It's _Harry's_ house.

Anger drives Louis straight up to his front door, not his common sense. If he had any, he would have endured the noise and avoided the one person who has successfully screwed up his emotions and his entire year.

It's chilly at night, so he throws on a baggy cardigan so his hands are covered with his all too famous sweater paws.

He doesn't need to knock as there is a couple stumbling out and a red head walking in. The door never shuts.

He contemplates for a second, just a mere second, and debates on turning around or going in, but he doesn't have much of a say as he's grabbed by both his wrists and dragged in.

Through his fringe, his eyes catch sight of the many people grinding on each other with red cups in their hands, and they're only just in the foyer. There are bodies already slumped on the ground and despite the large size of Harry's million dollar house, it's full to the brim with people. Louis reckons there's not just Rowan High students here, but also Somerset High and Stonewall Private Academy students, in which the private school students should definitely not be here.

When he finally looks at the person pulling him through the crowd and through the rooms, he notices it's Zayn.

"What- Zayn! Let go of me! _Zayn!_ "

However, the student doesn't respond. At this point, they've entered one of the largest rooms on the bottom floor which Louis recognises is the main room of the party.

There is a large circle of Rowan High students, loads of whom are in his sex-ed classes, and in the middle there are countless amounts of Smirnoff Vodka bottles empty and discarded.

When they see Zayn and then see Louis, they all howl his name, dog whistling, shouting slurred words, applauding and welcoming him as Zayn twirls the teacher straight into the middle of the circle where he stands aimlessly and flustered.

 _He_ __really_ _ ___shouldn't_ _ _ ____have_ _ _ _ _____come._ _ _ _ _

He takes one look around at the drunk students cheering for him, and then hurries over to the doorway, planning to get out and go back home.

But he's stopped, and not by any ordinary tattooed student. By Harry.

Well, what's left of Harry. He's nothing but an empty shell filled with demons running wild. His emerald eyes are shades darker, an intimidating sage green. His lips are the same crimson red they've always been, but his face remains stoic and empty.

Louis never knew the Harry from before well, but he knew he was lively amongst Rowan High. This person in front of him is nothing as such. He doesn't even smirk.

That is, until he does, right at Louis. The teacher's gut twists in knots, because whilst it's his famous smirk, it's not his usual playful one. No, that disappeared as soon as he started using students as punch bags.

This smirk is the epitome of deranged. Of sinister. Of dark.

And it scares him, just like it should do.

"Where do you think you're going, _sweet_ _ _cheeks__."

Louis gulps and pushes his glasses up. "Home."

The tattooed boy - _man_ \- steps forward with his hands clasped behind his back. He's hovering dangerously close to the teacher.

 _"I_ _don't think so_ _."_

It comes out as a mocking whisper, one that puts Louis in a trance. He knows he shouldn't attempt escaping, not with the empty human in front of him and his unruly ways.

But that doesn't stop him.

He attempts to charge past the student, but there's an arm before his stomach blocking the door. He's quick to think of going under the arm but before he can, two hands are at his waist tugging him back and shoving him into the middle of the circle.

All eyes are on him, so he places a sweater paw on each cheek and looks down, avoiding all eye contact. He feels intimidated. He feels _embarrassed._

Then, everyone is resuming their game of Truth or Dare, the curly headed student still at the door with his arms folded.

"Oi, Zaynie!"

Louis doesn't need to look up to know it's Gigi speaking, and she sounds tipsy.

"Truth or dare? Dare? Got it. I dare you to give Mr. T the biggest hickey you can give him."

When everyone hears that, they completely dismiss the fact that it's Zayn's girlfriend asking him to do it, and they dog whistle sexually, sending winks to Zayn and the teacher himself.

He feels a hand on his back, and then Zayn is in front of him, lips in a smirk and face smug. He takes one step forward, and Louis takes one step back. And another, and another, right until he's backed up by Zayn against the wall outside the circle.

Everyone's watching intently and Harry, who has been watching blankly from the door with his deranged smirk, finally takes a seat with everyone else.

Louis can smell the alcohol on Zayn, can feel his body heat too close for comfort, but then he's bringing his lips to his neck, and the teacher falls pliant.

The pair of his lips on his neck are soft and sweet for a handful of seconds, feathering kisses until they're sucking at his neck and Louis is letting out a gasp, pushing his glasses up as they slip down.

One of the drunk lad's hands reach for Louis' thigh, bringing his leg up and wrapping it around his waist. His thighs are parted, and Zayn successfully slips a leg in between them, brushing at the teacher's crotch. Louis emits another moan and the pair of lips suck even harder.

Then, the lad's other hand is coming up to pin both the teacher's wrists above his head on the wall. The teacher tries to verbally object given he's held down, but all that comes out is a gasp and another moan. It feels too good. Then he's lifted up completely.

It all feels too similar to when he was with Harry.

Zayn has both his hands gripped tightly at his waist, lips sucking constantly and making smacking sounds. It's a full blown five minutes of Louis squirming and gasping and moaning and mewling before the pair of lips are removed.

The drunk lad takes a moment to appreciate his work and then carries him over into the circle.

Louis doesn't know what set of thighs he's sat down on, and who's manhood his ass is pressing against until he sees ringed fingers clutching at his thighs and spreading them wide. Anyone could have the same rings, but he sees the tattooed cross and he knows exactly who he's on.

Everyone's applauding Zayn's masterpiece and Louis tries to ignore the large hands at his waist stroking where a strip of his skin peaks through.

Then, straight after Zayn's dare, Harry's getting dared. It's the same awful dare but no one complains about the repetition. It's what they all want. It's what they're thriving off.

Louis' flushed the colour of red and doesn't get a moment to compose himself as he's being forcefully lifted - manhandled - and carried over to the middle of the circle where he's set down. Harry stares at him intensely, demonically.

It's ironic that Halsey's Drive is sounding throughout the entire house on the speakers, because the look in Harry's eyes tell Louis that even if he tried, he couldn't tear his eyes off his face.

The tattooed man tangles his fingers in the teacher's hair, holding his head back with force. Louis only looks up with innocent baby blues through his glasses.

Then, the hands are removing themselves from his hair to reach down and grab his ass, pushing him impeccably close to his front to the point where Louis is on the tips of his toes and his hands are squashed between their chests. Louis feels so little.

When the cerise pair of lips are coming down to suck on his neck, Louis mewls and falls completely helpless. He's completely in a trance and he can't stop it.

 _He_ __really_ _ ___can't_ _ _ ____stop_ _ _ _ _____it._ _ _ _ _

Louis can't register anything anymore. All he can do is throw his head back and moan, widening the expanse of his neck and allowing the student better access.

When he feels someone being pressed up behind him, he knows it's Zayn. He's successfully sandwiched between the two students and falls limp when Zayn starts to suck on his neck again.

The two sets of lips bringing his blood to the surface cause him to lose any trace of common sense he has left because he shouldn't be doing this.

 _He_ __really_ _ ___shouldn't_ _ _ ____be_ _ _ _ _____doing_ _ _ _ _ ______this._ _ _ _ _ _

Everyone is cheering and he's so mentally lost in the blazing feeling that he doesn't realise his glasses being removed. His eyes are clenched shut as his body is wrecked with moans and gasps and groans and mewls.

Lips start to kiss up to his cheek, and when they encase his, the feeling that surges through his gut is too much to handle. He's so lightheaded and this is so, _so_ _ _wrong__ , but it feels so, _so_ _ _good.__

 _ _ _ _Stop____ ______it.______

 _______Stop_ _ _ _ _ _ _ ________it!_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He doesn't know where he gets the strength to shove the two students off him, or the strength to walk out, but he does.

He stumbles, vision blurred, mind scarred with the feeling of pleasure, straight through the crowds of drunk teenagers, and the two students let him.

When he escapes the house, he runs back to his, climbs the grand stairs and locks himself in his bathroom. He doesn't have his glasses, but he can see the bursting red and purple of what is littered hickeys on his neck.

He wants to cry, so he does.

•

The next day comes around and Harry, the lacrosse team and Gigi spend it cleaning up the massive house from top to bottom.

Nobody talks about last night, not about how Gigi threw up on Olivia's hair, how Josh skinny dipped in the pool revealing his tattoo of a dick he received one drunken night, how Principal Styles appeared at three am demanding all the people out of _his_ house and not _Harry's,_ or how Harry threatened his dad if he didn't get off _his_ property.

The biggest avoided topic is Mr. Tomlinson.

They all squirm in disgust when Zayn throws up on Harry's white rug. Harry internally cries because of the amount of money it costs.

But, just like always, his face is devoid of any emotion.

Lunch comes around, and they order in boxes of pizza and throw out the bags of rubbish they've piled.

When the sun starts setting, they all leave Harry, praising him for a great party. The only time any one mentions Mr. Tomlinson is when Zayn gives him a wink as he leaves Harry's porch, hand linked with Gigi's. So really, the teacher isn't mentioned, but it's the only time it's hinted because Harry knows what that look meant.

He only hands his co-captain the teacher's glasses and tells him to drop them off, then shuts the door behind him.

Harry doesn't leave his house that evening, only to take out one stray rubbish bag that had been left in one of the other rooms. He goes out carrying the bag and he's at the bottom of his driveway closing the garbage bin's lid when he notices out of the corner of his eye some sort of commotion. When he's walking back up his driveway, he sees clearly that Mr. Tomlinson is arguing with no other than his rich boyfriend.

Harry can't hear a thing, but it doesn't look good. Harry doesn't feel sympathetic one bit. Instead, he gets to his porch, lights a cigarette and watches the scene unfold with his all too common ludicrous smirk.

He watches how Louis' boyfriend stands taller than him, scolding him. He watches how the teacher argues back, distressed. He watches how the other man gets into his Range Rover, driving off.

And he watches Mr. Tomlinson fall to the ground in tears, absolutely shattered, clutching at his chest.

The tattooed lad raises an eyebrow at the scene. It looks like something out of a movie and makes him scoff, resulting on him choking on the cigarette smoke

He runs a hand through his curls, and looks off into the distance, a smile playing on his lips. He likes seeing other people miserable. It makes him feel good.

He's lighting another cig when he realises the teacher catching sight of him from his place on the ground. The look on the blue eyed person's face twists from utter despair to maximum anger. Harry's eyes go comically wide as the teacher begins to stomp the distance towards him in rage and tears.

Harry just doesn't do tears.

When Mr. Tomlinson reaches his porch, climbing the steps, Harry does nothing but smoke on his cigarette. If he can avoid a confrontation, that's what he'll do.

"You!"

Harry acts like he isn't just shoved backwards the slightest, taking a draw from his ciggy. He breathes the smoke out and his sage green eyes glance at the wrecked teacher.

"Me?"

He's hit on the chest this time.

"Because of _you!_ And- and that sidekick of yours!"

"Who, Zayn?"

Really, he doesn't feel one bit of emotion towards the sight in front of him. He just continues smoking and looks off into the distance where the sun meets the horizon line and is engulfed by it.

"I just got _dumped!_ A man who I've been with for four. Fucking. Years!"

Harry lets out an airy laugh, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Don't get it wrong. Zayn and I are practically the Bonnie and Clyde of Rowan High, but Zayn is pretty much his own person."

He half expects the slap across the face he receives, knocking the cigarette from his lips and over the railing of the porch. The shoving and all is fine by him, but the slapping is really not. Under any other circumstance, he'd physically respond, however they're outside, not in school, and he would be damned if the police got involved.

Harry looks down at the teacher, face blank, before smiling mockingly.

"You are a fucking _disgrace_ , Harry Styles."

"If he dumped your ass because of a few bruises on your neck you got from tripping over your laces and slamming into the edge of a cupboard one too many times, then he's not a good boyfriend."

The smaller lad gasps, blue eyes glazed over and face puffy and red. He hits Harry on the chest again. Once, twice, three times and then repeatedly until it becomes automatic.

When Harry brings up an arm around the middle of his back unwillingly, patting it awkwardly because _he doesn't fucking do_ _tears_ , that's when the teacher collapses against his chest in sobs.

It's a conflicting decision Harry makes when he decides to pick the teacher up bridal style and carry him into his house, laying him on his couch and taking off his glasses. It's a decision that shows that Harry cares. He doesn't.

The teacher curls up on the couch, silently crying. Harry leaves him like that. Louis soon falls asleep.

Harry never does.

He's slowly pacing his living room with a cup of coffee when Louis wakes up. The sun's already shining through the curtains in the living room, but it's only five in the morning.

"Sleep well, _sweet_ _ _cheeks?__ "

It doesn't sound caring at all. It's meaningless and Harry only says it to startle the teacher who blinks himself awake.

Louis panics, which is expected, because he's woken up to a different voice in a different place and he doesn't have his glasses beside him like he usually does when he wakes up.

"Looking for these?"

Harry dangles his glasses before him. Louis reaches up from the couch to grab them but the tattooed student snatches them back.

"I think I prefer you without them on... _Louis_."

"No, no, no, Harry, I need them. What's the time? Harry! I need to get to class!"

"One, it's five in the morning. Two, it's Sunday morning. Three, we're on break."

"Why are you up at five?" Louis questions, rubbing at his eyes with his sweater paws.

"My lovely sister, Gemma, is flying into LAX. I'm leaving to pick her up soon. You, _sweet cheeks_ -"

"Stop calling me that."

"-Are going to come with me. Let's get you away from that asshole of a boyfriend of yours, yeah? Dumping you for hitting your neck on a cupboard, tsk...how horrible," Harry shakes his head sarcastically, tossing Louis his glasses and taking a sip of his coffee.

At the mention of his boyfriend, the blue eyed teacher remembers the devastation of last night and places a sweater paw over his mouth. He chokes back a sob.

"There, there," Harry awkwardly pats him on the head.

The two say nothing more after that, well, Harry doesn't. Louis, on the other hand, majorly protests when Harry tells him to go back to his house and have a shower so they can leave to pick up Gemma.

All Louis wants to do is bundle up in his own bed and rot. Harry wants a travelling buddy and he doesn't want to be that.

However, the almost stranger with the cold attitude he maintains, has a significant hold over Louis as he ends up brushing his teeth, washing his face and showering, changing into a pair of yoga pants, a lose tee, a fluffy cardigan and vans.

Harry straps the seatbelt across Louis when he gets into his car. It's an action that once again shows that Harry cares about Louis.

He doesn't.

No words are exchanged throughout the entire ride there besides from Harry asking what breakfast he would like when they stop halfway through the journey to buy some. Any silence is drowned out by the music playing through the car speakers.

They arrive at LAX by seven am and park in one of the terminals. Louis is in too much of a hazy daydream to realise exactly where Harry parks. It's only when Harry starts unloading two suitcases and a duffle bag out of the car trunk does Louis realise that they're not there to pick up Gemma.

"We are flying to England for the break," Harry responds to Louis' round of questioning.

The blue eyed teacher sticks his head out of the car window, mouth agape. He goes to open the door and tumbles out by accident, scraping his knee on the ground.

Harry, closing the trunk, rolls his eyes as he chews on a piece of gum.

"Excuse me?"

Harry sighs, grabbing one of the suitcases. "C'mon, be useful. Grab a suitcase." He swings the duffle bag over his shoulder and stares at Louis.

Louis' face screws up in confusion before he's gasping again.

"Is that my suitcase?" He points at the one suitcase left, dusting his knee off. It's bleeding a bit, a hole in his yoga pants. He groans.

"Yep."

"Did you go into my house and go through my things?!"

"Yep."

"Harry!"

"Louis."

They stare each other in the eyes. The sun lights up Louis' eyes and makes them glisten a sea blue and equally makes Harry's shine a summer green.

It's different to the dark green that Louis' grown accustomed to. In the light, he looks sweet, not cold. Like an angel...

Louis is first to look away, looking down at his feet.

"Come on, flight's at ten."

Harry locks the car and begins to walk off. Louis has no choice but to grab the suitcase and follow. It's not exactly like he can walk home.

It's a hassle getting through security and all the other processes in order to board a plane. It wouldn't have been a hassle if Louis wasn't urging on about how he can't be flying to England out of the blue like this.

They receive stares when Louis clutches onto both of Harry's arm, trying to drag him but going absolutely nowhere, his feet sliding against the ground. To any outsider, Harry looks like a boyfriend dragging his partner away from work to have a break.

But never, no.

They board the plane eventually and receive more stares from everyone in first class during take off when Louis screams:

 _"Get_ _this plane back on the ground now!"_

Harry lets out a small laugh and muffles it with the back of his hand then coughs. It's a laugh that Louis doesn't hear over his screaming, and one that Harry doesn't plan to let Louis know of.

They're three hours into their flight when Louis is dozing off into a sleep. With the hum of the plane engine and air conditioning, along with the little conversations happening in first class, it's peaceful. So much to the point where Harry absentmindedly begins twiddling with Louis' fingers.

At one point, he gets up to wet a tissue in the bathroom and uses it to clean up the blood on Louis' knee. It doesn't mean he cares, he just thought it would be nice...not that he's nice.

He, himself, dozes off too, and when Louis wakes up, he's still asleep. When Louis notices his cleaned up knee, he gives a small smile and his stomach twists the slightest.

Louis ends up twirling strands of the green eyed lad's curly hair for a while until he digs through the duffle bag Harry brought for his phone but finds one of his books first.

He takes it out and the sight of Louis reading, glasses perched on his button nose, is what Harry wakes up to.

Harry doesn't say anything. He just watches the teacher silently for a few moments before pulling out his macbook and proceeding to watch some videos.

When they prepare for landing, the pilot announces that they will be landing in London in less than fifteen minutes. At the mention of place, Louis ears perk up.

"Why London?"

Harry looks up through slightly blurred eyes, having been looking at his laptop screen for quite a while.

"Gemma lives here."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "I thought you made up Gemma just to get me to LAX."

"Nah."

He turns to face his laptop screen again and they don't exchange any words until they're meant to be exiting the airport, but it's thunder storming outside.

"I don't suppose you brought any umbrellas?" Louis asks.

"Nope..." Harry trails off, contemplating. "You'll just have to huddle under my coat as we run out to the cab."

"Um-" Louis doesn't get a chance to properly respond as he's being shoved under Harry's arm under his coat, and then they're running out into the rain, suitcases and duffle bag slowing them down terribly.

Harry tries to stop himself from laughing as they try not to get soaked. It's a complete fail, both trying to stop himself from laughing and not getting soaked.

They're drenched as they get into the cab and usually that would leave someone frowning and annoyed, but it leaves Harry in a chipper mood.

He tries to not be so happy, it's not him at all. Then he sees Louis looking out the cab windows in awe, realises he's never been to London.

Harry smiles.

They make it to a five star hotel and sign in. The minute Louis walks through the hotel room doors, he runs up to the far side of the room when the wall is completely glass from top to bottom and smudges his face against it.

"So...beautiful..."

He receives a weird stare when one of the hotel's staff wheel in their luggage, but Harry only shakes his head towards the person, _don't_ _ _question__ _ _ _it.___

Whilst Louis is admiring the view, shrugging off his cardigan and shoes, leaving him in his tee and jeans, Harry goes into the kitchen and stirs up some tea for the two of them. He puts some sugar in Louis' tea because Louis' sweet so his tea is probably sweet too. He doesn't put any sugar in his because he's not sweet.

It sounds childish, he knows.

He hands Louis his tea after kicking his own shoes off, breaking him out of his daze. The smaller lad murmurs a _thanks_ and heads over to the couch, curling up on it. He watches the rain and the dark clouds covering the stars and moon. The lit up buildings look too beautiful and Louis is still amazed.

"Just as beautiful as LA..."

Harry, who's stood near the window himself sipping on his tea, comes to sit beside Louis, placing his cup on the coffee table.

Moments of silence pass before the blue eyed boy breaks the silence.

"The rain is so beautiful to watch."

Harry blinks, picking up his phone from the coffee table and twiddling with it. He hums in agreement, then he's sighing. He's glad Louis isn't facing him because it makes what he says next just the littlest bit easier to say.

"You know..." he breathes out. Louis continues staring out the window.

"I don't say this often 'cause...I'm Harry Styles, captain of the lacrosse team and Row's 'legendary bad boy' who doesn't care..."

He gulps, because what he says next is what he's been in denial of this whole time.

"But I care about you Louis."

Louis snaps his head towards Harry and this time, he's the one with a blank face. He's unreadable. Then, he's flushing over in a rosy pink and looking down at his tea.

Harry continues.

"I care about who you are..." he puts down his phone, twiddling with his fingers instead.

Louis' never seen him like this, so he stays speechless.

"And who you are...is a fluffy, cute and shy little sex-ed teacher with an amazing body when you're not hiding it under those jumpers and cardigans. What you are is astonishingly pretty when your glasses slip down your nose and you push them back up with your sweater paws."

He throws his head back, eyes clenched shut. " _God,_ I love your sweater paws."

Louis' cheeks have turned a bright red and he's smiling, making them look cute and sweet.

 _Sweet_ __cheeks._ _

"But who are, to me, Louis?"

He holds his breath, and then lets it out with his words.

 _"_ __You're_ _ ___the_ _ _ ____person_ _ _ _ _____I'm_ _ _ _ _ ______in_ _ _ _ _ _ _______love_ _ _ _ _ _ _ ________with."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

They're both speechless after that. There's nothing they can say. But in terms of what they can do? Louis puts down his cup of tea and slowly moves over to Harry, cautiously because this Harry isn't Harry.

But then he looks right into the pair of green eyes and there's nothing but sincerity, nothing but honesty, nothing but everything he's been hiding all these months. Those eyes follow his hand as he cups the student's cheek.

They follow along his jawline, the hickeys on his neck, and then up his Adam's apple to his lips. Then, they trail up until they're staring into the set of blue ones before him.

And as Louis leans in, Harry cups a hand on his hip. Their clothes are still soaked and they smell like rain, but it doesn't pull them away from each other.

When their lips hit, the feeling makes a connection with Harry's heart. It evokes a rush of electricity in him and finally he's _feeling_ _ _something__ _ _ _again.___

For Louis, any urge to push this person away because it's his student disintegrates into nothingness.

Their lips move together in a tango that feels well rehearsed, and as Louis' small body comes down to lie on Harry's, they feel moulded into each other like two pieces of clay.

It's a kiss without tongues, one that speaks so loudly with so little. When their lips slowly part for a breath, Louis is first to speak.

"Why?"

Harry furrows his eyebrows, gulps because he's nervous. He's weak in the bones.

"Why?" The tattooed lad questions back.

Louis rubs his nose against Harry's softly in an Eskimo kiss. He moves himself back the slightest, but Harry follows after him, rubbing his nose back.

"Why are you so cold? Why are you so _dark?_ "

Silence consumes the two and Louis starts to believe Harry was just simply being cruel throughout the past year for the sake of it. But then he's getting a response.

"My dad..." Harry sighs. "He made me numb to everything - cold. He's a shit parent... Then that stupid transfer to your class and being so physically close to someone like you made me feel warm and I hated the feeling - I still do. So I act dark, to scare you off..." he trails off sheepishly.

Louis smiles. Harry doesn't expect it, so he looks at the teacher questioningly.

"Harry Styles, you may have scared me but you've never scared me off..."

"Good, _sweet_ _ _cheeks,__ cause I like you close to me."

They share a moment where Louis is smiling widely and Harry is looking fondly, then Louis is attacked in a snog.

He falls back, Harry now on top. Through the pair of lips bombarding his own lips' personal space, he's able to mutter out, "we smell like rain." Then he's being hoisted up into the ever so famous position of having his legs wrapped around the taller man's waist. As he's carried past the bedroom doors, he clutches onto the doorframe, stopping Harry.

"Wait, Harry."

Harry feels like he's about to be rejected, Louis has always rejected him. Usually because of their teacher-student relationship, but they're on the other side of the world now and away from it. What reason could he have?

"I'm in love with you too."

The curly headed lad brightens up with a wide smile and then he's capturing Louis' lips in an aching kiss, stumbling forward until his knees hit the bed and Louis is falling back.

Louis turns around onto his hands and knees, playfully climbing up and away from Harry who only grabs him by the ankles and pulls him back down. Louis falls flat on his front.

"Where are you going, sweet cheeks?" Harry smirks, bringing his mouth up to Louis' ear to whisper it.

It twists Louis' stomach and his blood starts to rush south.

"Say that again. Say that again and say it like you're _dark_."

 _"I_ _said, where are you going...sweet cheeks."_

And at the sound of the famous low tone of the lad, laced with venom and derangement, Louis moans.

Harry grips at the back of Louis' collar, pressing the teacher's face into the mattress. Then he rips his tee from top to bottom, all in one go. It exposes the smooth expanse of Louis' back and Harry brings his lips down to mark a trail of hickeys as he removes the shirt fully from Louis.

Louis' a withering mess of moans when Harry kisses down to the curve of his ass. When Harry slips his fingers into the waistband of Louis' yoga bottoms and pulls it over his curves along with his underwear, he bites his lips and shuts his eyes blissfully at the sight.

"Jaxon was spot on. Nice ass."

The blue eyed teacher flushes a camellia red, barely being able to untangle his legs out of his yoga bottoms before Harry is flipping him over, absorbing the entire heaven sent view before him. Then he's crawling over Louis like he's a powerful source of energy that Harry can't help but suck all up because he's addicted to it. Harry brings his red lips to Louis' ear.

"Undress me."

Louis' breath hitches in his throat, member twitching at the order. He lets out a strangled moan, one that Harry revels in, obsessed with his sounds. The green eyed man clasps his lips on a section of skin underneath Louis' ear, sucking at it.

Louis' still littered with hickeys from the party. Harry's never been so attracted to the idea of another person's markings being on the person he's in love with, but knowing it was his best mate who latched onto the sex-ed teacher's neck, he feels automatically twice as aflame, dick pulsating with all the blood that's rushed to it.

Harry draws back off Louis, coming to stand at the end of the bed. Louis dares to approach him on his hands and knees, the sight exclusive and leaving Harry grunting in his throat. He needs his jeans off immediately, but the tease is working for the snail company on purpose, baby blue eyes locked on his green.

"Fucking fairy, you are," Harry groans out, refraining from gripping tightly on the sex-ed teacher's brunette strands and dragging him closer. "Come here," he grits his teeth. "Now."

Louis complies with his order, but only speeds up his crawl by a millisecond. He loves the agitated look in Harry's eyes, flourishing off it the more livid he grows, right up until the point the green eyed man is gripping onto his hair, forcing him closer and up onto his knees.

"Undress me. Now," Harry's hold remains, his face inches from Louis who smirks like the little tease he is. "Before I end up fucking you with half my damn clothes on."

The part that gets Harry as Louis' fingers come to pinch at the hem of his top is those glasses. Those same black rimmed glasses that he's always worn, framing his pixie like face. Part of him wants to take them off, make Louis reliant, so dependent on him to guide his body with his awful sight. Part of him wants to keep them on, make them the whole focal point of tonight, perhaps jizz on them for the satisfaction it offers. He doesn't know which idea he likes best.

Louis drags his knuckles painfully slow up against Harry's skin as he lifts his top. He deserves the way Harry grabs his hand, his restraint flickering out like a hologram, and holds it firmly against his crotch. He tosses his head back, eyes shut and curls in his face as he moans.

He's large and throbbing against him to the point Louis can feel his pulse through his jeans. The blue eyed teacher falls back onto his calves, hooking a finger in the belt slot of Harry's jeans, pulling him that inch closer. Louis' mouth brushes the back of Harry's hand, silently asking him to let go.

Harry drops his head back down, overwhelmed by the God given sight before him. Louis' cheeks remain flushed that beautiful crimson red they always are, even more so when his fingers come to fiddle with Harry's button and zip. He's timid as he pulls down Harry's jeans, the curly headed lad never taking his eyes off him. He's even more shy when he pulls at the waistband of Harry's underwear, the material tight and stretched against his member.

He's greeted with Harry's leaking cock, veins apparent, the tip a strained red, a trail of pre-cum trickling down the side. Louis looks up at Harry, silently asking for permission he knows he already has. His tongue is out and lapping at the bead that trails Harry's vein, but the green eyed man has other ideas, gripping his member and rubbing himself on Louis' cheeks, slapping at the skin.

Harry ultimately groans his loudest yet when his tip hits the bottom of Louis' glasses, a drip of pre-come staining his lens. Louis shuts his eyes out of fear that it will miraculously get into his eye, but soon blinks them open again when he's got Harry's length in his mouth hitting the back of his throat.

Louis immediately wraps his arms around his base, letting Harry grip his fingers in his hair. He's a sucker for being controlled, has always loved it when Harry has picked him up. Has always loved being handled by him, so intensely loves it when Harry is thrusting into his mouth with the utmost control, Louis' hands good for nothing apart from being locked under his bum between the back of his legs.

By complete reflex, Louis' eyes start to water behind his glasses, tears dripping down his red cheeks to his jaw and chin. He feels Harry wrap a hand around his neck just to feel himself reaching the back of Louis' throat, lips stretched wide.

Harry pulls out, Louis hunching forward, catching his breath and wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. Harry grabs him by the jaw, bringing his face up and licking at his stained cheeks twice on each side. Then he plants a kiss on the tip of his elf nose only to bring him back down and roll back into his mouth, twitching.

Louis can't help but gag, whining around Harry's length and secretly prodding a finger between his cheeks. He's got spit trickling out of the corners of his mouth, adding to the wetness on his face from the fresh set of reflex tears that stream down. His glasses start to slip down his nose with each thrust into his mouth and the sight to Harry is of premier rank, unbelievably so that he has to pull out before he spills in Louis' mouth before burying deep in his ass.

Louis pants out, chest heaving as he falls back on the sheets. Harry grabs him by his ankles again, pulling him closer and dropping between each of his spread thighs, elbows coming to rest by his head. Harry latches his lips onto the skin beneath his chin, kissing over Louis' Adam's apple until he's kissing at the dip of his left collarbone. Louis' breathing remains unsteady, pattern irregular as Harry works his marks onto him, all over his skin. The blue eyed teacher rolls his hips for some kind of relief but Harry pins each side of him down.

"Not until I fuck you," he grunts out against Louis' chest.

Louis' inner pliant part shrivels up in apology. He nods his head frantically, letting Harry manhandle him over onto his front and drag his waist up until his face is muffled in the sheets. Louis loses all little control he has left over himself when he feels Harry's lips against his hole like a bed of petals on his skin. Those lips mouth at Louis, nipping on his rim until there are erratic moans ripping from his throat at a high octave, selfish to the rest of their hotel floor.

The sucking sounds that Harry makes causes his dick to drool with pre-cum, and when Harry gets his tongue in, stretching him out, intruding and stroking his walls, Louis cums and shamefully.

His whole body shakes with vibrations, toes curling in as he tries to prop himself up on his elbows but failing terribly as another wave knocks him off balance. He can't see Harry but knows that his jaw has dropped now that he's pulled back. Louis comes down from his high, hiding his face in the sheets from embarrassment.

"I'm sorry-"

"Fuck."

"I didn't mean to."

Harry grips Louis by the waist, pulling him back against his front until his cock is flush between his cheeks, then grabs his jaw to speak in his ear.

"I don't care if you meant to or didn't," he growls. "You make me want to fuck you through concrete, _sweet cheeks._ That shitty boyfriend of yours never really touched you, ain't it? That's why you came so quickly. I promise to fuck you good. Let me show you my worth," he nudges himself against Louis' rim, awaiting his consent. "May I?"

Louis nods, head falling back on Harry's shoulder, but the curly headed man doesn't move, not until he's got verbal consent, Louis figures, so he swallows down his heart in his throat, and breathes out an airy, "yes."

Then Harry's stretching into him, easing himself in inch by inch and not stopping until he's bottomed out. He's all swallowed up by Louis, his teacher, something he never imagined would happen. He doesn't fuck teachers, yet here he is, cock deep in one and the one he's in love with.

Feeling so full of Harry, Louis realises just how empty he felt in the ten months of never speaking to him. He doesn't want to go back to that state, not when he's dying to show Harry just how much he loves him back. So he begins to move himself before Harry does, pressing back and drawing forward despite the fact his hips aren't used to the constant movement and are growing tired rather quickly.

Harry trails a hand down the curve of Louis' spine, watching his creamy skin begin to form beads of sweat as he works his body. He notices how Louis' hips stutter at one point from tiredness, but instead of helping him, let's him have at it for a moment more, let's him continue to prove just how much he loves him back.

Now, being loved back by said teacher is the part Harry absolutely never thought would happen, but then again, here he is, there they are, because of their confessions.

Louis' a mess of whimpers already, falling forward onto his elbows and pushing up his glasses, but the kind of whimpers that are needy and reflect a beggar. When he completely drops his face in the mattress, hips coming to a stop, that's when Harry gives in, grabbing his hips and drilling into him. It revives Louis as he finds the energy to get back up on his elbows and emit pornstar worthy moans out of his mouth.

Harry watches as he grips the sheets, pulling them out of place and stuffing a fist full in his mouth to muffle his moans. That angers Harry who wants to hear him for all that he is: Harry's. The green eyed man pulls him back by the elbows into their previous position, but Louis brings the sheets with him, teeth clamped down. Harry grunts, never slowing his pace as he reaches round to rip the material out of Louis' mouth.

When Harry hears those moans tear free past those lips, he can't help but toss his head back and shut his eyes in complete bliss. What tops the icing of the cake is the way he fucks the glasses off Louis' face, the object hitting the mattress. That's when Louis starts to whine even more, not being able to see anything properly and only being able to feel Harry deep in him and hear the sound of their skin smacking, each connection the same amount of milliseconds apart like the beat of a pendulum.

Harry wants to see him though, his face. His red, flushed cheeks, those lens-less eyes. Without a warning, he abruptly pulls out and flips Louis over, crawling back over him the way he's done twice tonight and rolls his hips. He watches how Louis' mouth forms an 'o', how his chest rises and falls violently. He admires the reds and purples littered all over his neck, and just for the sake of it, leans down to suck another.

"Ha-arry?" Louis chokes out through his spit.

"Yeah?" Harry pants out, curls falling into Louis' face.

"You owe me a deten- _fuck!_ " He screams out when Harry repositions his hips, thrusting into that spot inside him with no mercy. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

"For someone who doesn't swear, you sure know how to cuss," Harry laughs airily, the way his stomach coils cutting him off.

"I'm just- fuck- I'm just tryna be my father," he jokes awfully, eyelids falling shut. "Y' shoulda told me you'd screw me this- _oh! Stay right the_ _fuck_ _there!"_

Harry does, hips coming to a stop, balls deep and dick pushed firm up against that spot in Louis. The teacher's mouth locks open for a moment longer than expected as he cums again, his white liquid pooling at his belly button and dribbling off the sides of his hips.

It's a delightful sight, the way Louis' slender stomach rises with the air he manages to breath in as his muscles spaz out. Harry's in the right frame of mind to drag his tongue across Louis' stained skin and so does, dipping first into his navel and bringing his lips in contact to swallow the mess the blue eyed boy has made. He licks his stomach clean, feeling the goose bumps that rise in the process. Then he grabs Louis by the wrist, dragging him off the bed.

"Harry, where are- I can't see, Harry! What are you-"

When Louis hears the doors to the balcony slide open, he tilts his head to the side in confusion, turning away and getting ready to stumble back to the king sized bed for his glasses. However, before he can, Harry's large hands lock around his waist, pulling him back and out onto the balcony.

Louis can feel that it's still raining, much lighter albeit, and there's still the low rumble of thunder in the background. It's not cold, just muggy and it smells strongly of fresh nature. It's dark out for a fact, and all the lighter blurred shapes in his vision are all the city's buildings straight up to the horizon line with their lights on. He still shivers, even more so when he feels the cold railing of the balcony against his stomach. Especially when Harry locks him in, arms on either side of him on the bar. He whimpers, feeling helpless.

"Do you trust me, sweet cheeks?"

Louis gulps down his fear of being quite literally on the edge of a balcony without his glasses on. It's scarier because he can't properly see it, can only feel it. He guesses that's Harry's intention though, to make him feel everything instead of see it, to make him feel that he's there - that he cares.

"Yes."

That's all Harry needs to lift him onto the tips of his toes and bend him over the balcony edge, fucking into him at the same rattling speed he acquired inside. If Harry's hands weren't gripped tightly around Louis' waist, he'd be on the verge of dropping. The whole act gives Louis that rush of euphoria that two orgasms would never fulfil, that kind of dangerous rush of electricity that sends his body into overload, unable to stop his shaking as Harry drills into him. He's never felt so loved before. Having him in the face of death is Harry's demoniacal way of saying he'll never let him go, no matter what.

His purely deranged way of telling Louis that if they ever got caught and the teacher went to jail, Harry would spend Louis' entire sentence finding a way out for him. God, ink the whole of his body like it's Prison Break, anything for him.

His solely unhinged way of saying he loves him, even if he said it already and with his mouth instead of his actions, but actions speak louder than words, of course.

Louis is so gone at this point, doesn't think he can cum again, but when Harry's groans are never ending in his ear as he spills into him, filling him up until he's dripping out the side, Louis' body freezes completely in one more push over the edge. There's nothing but a pathetic drizzle that drips from his tip, as pathetic as the drizzling rain way below the standards of British weather, but the cry that rips from his throat is way above Harry's standards. The green eyed man is shocked at the sound that has come out of Louis' mouth, so wild, so precious. He holds him through their highs, panting, until they're both able to function and the muscles in Louis' feet haven't locked up from clenching so hard.

Louis gulps, staring at God knows what with his terrible sight. It could be the London Eye, or the Big Ben - it all looks the same. The rain hits him on his burning cheeks, cooling them down, and as it starts to fall heavier, Louis has never appreciated rain so much.

He's pulled away from the beauty of it too soon though, Harry carrying him back in and starting up a shower for them both. He lathers Louis up, washes him well and even though the blue eyed teacher barely has the energy to, he does the same in return. After brushing their teeth, they throw on the first pair of pyjamas they spot. Harry grabs Louis by the waist for the umpteenth time that night before he can pull on a pair of joggers. Louis' swimming in his own Ramones sweater, three times his size because that's the trend.

He doesn't complain about the fact that Harry's idea of putting on clothes is being stark naked. If he sleeps naked, he sleeps naked.

•

"Exams start tomorrow," Mr. Tomlinson speaks with his back to his class, scribbling their exam time slot on the whiteboard. It's unnecessary really, all the students have an exam timetable on laminated A4, but there are certain students who lack giving a damn who for a fact haven't even peaked at the page. By 'certain students' - Harry Styles.

"I'm not going to talk on about where you should be come nine o'clock tomorrow morning. All I'm going to say is please, for the love of God, if you get asked if masturbation or a blow job can lead to pregnancy or an STD, tick the box that says 'no,' a big fat tick. You are dismissed."

The students scramble out of the class just as the bell goes, piling out the door in their teenager herd. Everyone except Harry and Olivia who linger in the back of the classroom, exchanging words, and the same jock who likes to repeatedly tap Mr. Tomlinson's ass despite the detentions he receives - Jaxon - who approaches him.

Mr. Tomlinson picks up his cup of tea, sipping on the liquid only to spit it back out. It's gone an awful cold. He sighs.

"Mr. T?"

"Yeah?"

Jaxon places a box of chocolates on his for once clean desk, sliding it over to him.

"I wanted to thank you for teaching me all these years and being an amazing sex-ed teacher. You've taught me a lot about pussies-"

"Vaginas," Mr. Tomlinson squeaks out.

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, I was wondering if after my exams you'd like to go on a date. I won't be a student here anymore so it's less illegal than it could be. What do you-"

"Get the fuck out of here, Jaxon," Harry grabs him by the hair, disregarding his mumbles of discomfort, and tosses him out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Olivia gathers her books, giving Harry a not so subtle wink as she passes by, reopening the door and leaving only the two in the room.

"Louis."

"Harry?" Louis watches as the green eyed student steps towards him, footstep by footstep until he's behind his desk and backing him up against the whiteboard, successfully wiping out the nine and colon leaving the two zeroes which Harry connects an 'n' to in his mind childishly.

"Louis," Harry repeats. "Louis, Louis, Louis."

"Hey," Louis whacks Harry's arm but lets the taller lad slide his hands over the curve of his bum. "Don't jinx it."

"Sweet cheeks, then," he reaches one hand back to open Jaxon's box of chocolates on Louis' desk, picking one out and bringing it to his lips to bite off half of it. "I have a question for you."

"Yeah?" Louis gets out, eyes stuck on Harry's lips.

"Do you think I'll pass this exam?"

"Absolutely not," Louis breathes out airily, pushing his glasses up his nose out of habit with those God forbidden sweater paws.

"Exactly my answer. That doesn't mean I'm dumb at sex though, does it?"

"No," Louis flushes red. "I'm glad I'm not a girl and don't have a reproduction system though, because despite Olivia, you still didn't use a condom."

"I wanted to feel you," Harry scans every inch of his face. "I don't know when you'll slip through my fingers."

"Well-"

"Mr. T, I've got one more ques- oh."

Harry rips away from Louis, face blank as he stares at Jaxon. He could murder him.

"Really? You could do any teacher in this school and you pick the one I wanna do?"

"Oh, fuck off, Jax."

Louis hides his face with his sweater paws as Harry backs away, approaching Jaxon, ready to pounce to protect his property. Louis loves it to a certain extent, how much Harry loves him. The way he calls him sweet cheeks, the way he doesn't try to learn an entire year of sex-ed topics in one week just to impress him. Loves that Harry is just Harry, his next door neighbour, his student and the person he loves right back. 

But really, Harry could tone it down a bit. He doesn't have to make one of Mr. Tomlinson's students cry and beg for mercy as he runs the risk of breaking their arm on school grounds.

Then again, that's just Harry Styles.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, that'll be amazing. Wow, I've been with this for so long, it's so nice to finally post it. Really hope you enjoyed this <3


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